Clarity
by TheGoldenCrown
Summary: "I want to know, Sherlock. I want to know who loves who and where we stand." Molly wants answers, and Sherlock is not giving them. A Post-Season Three Sherlolly, without any major spoilers.


**A/N: I didn't realise it until I was almost done with this, but I had thought about doing a fic with about the same basic plot and the roles reversed. I might, still, but I think this makes more sense. My soundtrack for writing this was Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars, on repeat.**

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"Sherlock," she said, and he looked up from his microscope, slightly irritated, as always he was when he was interrupted during an experiment. "Yes?"

Molly straightened herself up on her stool. She'd been sitting there for a while, quietly eating her lunch while Sherlock worked. Maybe he'd forgotten she was there.

She studied him for a moment, then nodded to herself, affirming her thoughts of the last ten minutes. "I want you to kiss me," she said.

Sherlock frowned, his forehead creasing in curiosity. "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said," Molly replied, smiling slightly.

Sherlock turned in his seat, away from the microscope and towards her. "Why would I kiss you? Why would anyone kiss you here, now, when you're covered in corpse juice?"

Molly raised an eyebrow. "I'm eating, Sherlock." She held out her takeout container of noodles to prove her point. "I always wash up before I eat. It's more than policy."

Sherlock gave her a doubtful look and returned to his microscope.

Molly smirked and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. How _had _she predicted his reaction so perfectly?

"You could answer me, you know," she pointed out. "Or tell me why you seem so reluctant and childish."

Sherlock looked up again, his mouth falling slightly open, offended. "Childish?"

Molly smiled more. "Corpse juice? Is that really your reasoning?"

Sherlock glared. He really wished she'd stop smiling. At least it wasn't that repulsive sort of smile she got when she was trying too hard.

"Why do you want to kiss me?"

Molly shook her head and pointed at him with her fork. "You answer mine first. Why don't _you_ want to kiss _me_?"

Sherlock turned again, putting his feet on the floor so that he was more leaning than sitting on his stool. He looked at her for a full minute and then rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'd rather solve this case and leave in triumph rather than snog the pathologist and leave in disgust."

He knew it was a Not Good thing to say, but he didn't care, especially when the woman didn't look the least bit offended.

In fact, she was still smiling a bit. She'd expected him to leave sooner.

"Fair enough," she responded, closing up her noodle container and setting it on a counter behind her. "But why, though? Why are you so disgusted with me? Because you love me? Because you hate me? Somewhere in between?"

Sherlock stood to his full height and crossed his arms defensively. "What's this about?"

Molly looked at him with honest interest and curiosity. "I want to know, Sherlock. I want to know who loves who and where we stand. I want to know if the things I used to want for us are still possible, and if I still want them, and if you want them."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and loosened his arms around his torso. "And you think you're going to find that through a kiss?"

Molly smiled again, slightly, rising to her feet and leaning against the counter. "The kiss. Reactions to aforementioned kiss. Reactions to discussion before and after. Honestly, Sherlock, it's called an experiment. I know you've heard of those."

Sherlock sighed deeply and raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if forgetting briefly that he didn't believe in a God to complain to about his relationship problems. "And why on earth do you even _need _an experiment? Surely I've given you enough clues already."

Molly was still smiling, but he could finally see the frustration behind it. "Maybe too many clues, and a mixed bag at that. I mean, one day you barely notice I'm a woman and the next we're talking about my fiance, and don't you dare tell me there wasn't something that you weren't telling me. I don't know if you were jealous about losing your chance with me or just about possibly losing my help with your work, but there was something behind all that, and I'd like to know what it was."

She registered that he looked slightly stunned. Of course he did. She probably hadn't said this much to him in one day ever before.

"Because I've been open to the possibility of...of us, but I can't. I mean, I just can't keep waiting unless I know there's something worth waiting for."

She could tell Sherlock was uncomfortable, but he was trying hard to hide it. He let his arms fall, hanging by his sides a moment, then slipped his hands in his pockets. "What about Tom?" he asked, turning on a cruel, cold tone that was completely at ease. "Didn't you only just break up with him?"

She frowned. "I don't see how that's any of your concern, but yes. And that's absolutely fine, because we didn't love each other, and we realised at almost the same time, and we told each other the truth, and it was good. No casualties, and we're even still friends. Best and easiest break-up I've ever had."

Sherlock gave a small, amused smile. His deduce-her-into-tears smile. "But still, isn't that a bit soon to be rushing into another romance? Look at you: new perfume, new lipstick, and a new necklace. Are you so desperate that you can't take a bit of a breather between boyfriends?"

Molly stood straight, her smile widening. "Oh, that's cute, Sherlock Holmes. You think this is for you? No, this is for me. I had some extra money, I decided to spend it on myself. I look nice, don't I?"

Her smile faded out slowly as she crossed her arms in defiance. "I'm not rushing into anything, Shezza."

Sherlock flinched internally, remembering the last time they'd met in this lab.

"If you kissed me right now," she continued ruthlessly. "If you told me you wanted me, even that you loved me, I would not run into your arms. I would not immediately consent to be your bride, your girlfriend, your date to any place classier than a crime scene. I would still be nothing more than your pathologist for days, weeks, months. You couldn't _pay_ me to jump into a relationship with someone as volatile and insufferable as Sherlock Holmes."

She paused, long enough for him to decide that she was probably being honest. Then she continued.

"If you kissed me now, and you decided you wanted to maybe do it again sometime, I might think about letting you. Someday. For now, all I want is the truth. So tell me."

If Sherlock was uncomfortable then, he only looked it for a second, which she may have imagined, but she didn't think she had, even upon reflection.

He drew his hands from his pockets, and gravitated closer to her. She remained still on her spot in the middle of a tile.

He gave her a smug, vicious look. "Bravo, Molly Hooper. A brilliant experiment indeed, and very logical. Except for one thing."

He was standing too close for comfort now, and yet she glared up into his eyes, no longer a frightened mouse under any circumstances.

"Your hypothesis was completely off mark. You say you've been getting mixed signals? Then let me be abundantly clear. I _don't _love you."

With that, he swept out of the lab, leaving experiments unfinished.


End file.
